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by ShooBeans
Summary: Spencer Reid was an addict; it was as clear as day now. Reid wasn't in control so Hotch had to be, for Reid's own wellbeing. Hotch/Reid slash. Read warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Criminal Minds related and the base of this story belongs to RoseLaurel.**

**Warnings: This is HotchxReid slash. In addition, it is rated M for a reason. There will possibly be drug use, questionably consensual sex, possible violence, and whatever else I feel like throwing in. I'll note, however, that the questionably consensual sex is more simply because I personally don't think that a person under the influence can fully consent so that's more semantics than anything else but I figured I should add it just in case I offend someone. But yeah, not a fun, nice story. Probably won't have a happy ending either just because I'm like that. Read at your own caution.  
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I have yet again been inspired by RoseLaurel's Live and Let Love, this time Tourniquet which is by far my favorite. I absolutely adore it. You should read it because I keep reading them. XD So needless to say, this story would not be at all possible without her.

And by the way, the first quote is from season two, episode nineteen. It's the episode that takes place directly after Jones.

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><p>Hotch didn't understand how anyone could have missed it.<p>

"_He's like a drug addict, only fire's his drug. Each time an addict needs a fix, they need more of the drug to get off, so his crimes will most likely get much worse. It'd be almost impossible for him to quit without help."_

Reid didn't talk about his problems, didn't ask for help. Hotch didn't think Reid knew how to. After all, Reid had not only taken care of himself from the single digits but his schizophrenic mother as well. He had attended high school and been savagely bullied before age twelve; had attended college surrounded by peers more than twice his age, none of whom had taken very kindly to the boy genius outshining them without so much as even trying; Reid had even been bullied while enrolled in the academy. Reid would never admit to the last one or any of it really without the proper pressuring, but Hotch knew. He didn't know how the rest of the team couldn't. Sure, Reid seemed almost normal around his own team, relaxed even, as if he was actually being himself, but place Reid with anyone else within the agency… It was clear as day when an agent from another branch would stop by and Reid would go pale and shrink back, as if he were expecting someone to hit him. Sometimes the agent would give Reid a knowing smirk, and Hotch would know.

But never once would Reid even signal that he required assistance. If anything, Reid went out of his way to make sure that he wasn't a burden on the people around him. Some might have viewed Reid as a socially awkward burden at times, but Reid always seemed to be trying his best. Hotch didn't believe that it was his fault.

So when the younger male offered that simile, a completely unneeded comparison that may not have been wrong but certainly hadn't added anything to the profile, Hotch knew. He knew that it was worse than any of them had originally thought and that this was Reid's way of begging them for their help. Surely one of them, Gideon or even Morgan at this point, would step up and take care of their youngest member.

So Hotch left it alone because it wasn't his place to offer the younger male his help. After all, Gideon was like Reid's surrogate father figure, the kid's mentor and the closet thing he had to a confident, and Morgan was the big brother figure, the alpha male in Reid's life that offered a sense of protection. They knew Reid best. And Hotch? He was just Reid's boss. Formality and professionalism was the barrier between the two of them. Reid wouldn't want him for a confident; he was probably the last person in the world that Reid would consider opening up to what with Reid's avid fear of being taken out of the field.

So Hotch left it alone until the end of the case. Left it alone, watched, and waited for someone to help Reid. It didn't happen. They just went about their business, seemingly oblivious to the tremors in Reid's hands as he squirmed in the jet seat; oblivious to the chills that rolled down the pale frame despite the sweat dampening Reid's forehead.

Oblivious to the fact that Reid disappeared into the bathroom, clutching his messenger bag as if it held his salvation. Oblivious to the fact that when Reid immerged more than twenty minutes later, his form had stilled and he seemed almost… functional. Functional, but hallowed out.

_Like a walking corpse._

It was a morbid thought, but Hotch couldn't think of a more appropriate way to describe the way Reid stumbled back towards his seat, barely making the effort to raise his feet. A corpse lost in a haze.

Hotch waited even then, his gaze lingering on his team, on Reid's makeshift and self appointed family that all proclaimed that they _cared_, but none of them moved. Reid was drowning and none of them thought to even so much as glance up. Gideon kept his attention on his case file, making notes for himself and taking sips of his coffee at random intervals. Morgan sat leaning back in his seat with his arms folded across his chest, the very picture of comfort as he lost himself in the blaring music from his headphones. JJ and Prentiss were deeply invested in a conversation about plans for the weekend, about the possibility of meeting up for a drink and maybe going out dancing later. And Reid? Reid was left to nestle himself as far away from the group as he could manage given the confined space, the shame evident on his face.

Slowly, Hotch pushed himself to a stand, making his way towards where Reid had curled up on a seat. Reid, not having noticed Hotch's approach, looked to be in pain. Not physical, no, Hotch had seen Reid in physical pain many times before and it looked nothing like this. This was somehow worse.

As Hotch seated himself down across from Reid, he became aware of the fact that while Reid hadn't even been given a single glance by the group of profilers before, by the sole act of Hotch moving to be beside of the young genius, they were now the center of everyone's attention. As if Reid now suddenly mattered.

Hotch ground his teeth together, angered by the thought.

They may have given up on Reid, but Hotch refused. He wasn't going to allow this to happen, not to Reid.

He had also gained Reid's attention by now, panic flittering across the pale face, sullen eyes widening ever so faintly. "Hotch?" he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual but it came out no louder than a murmur that screamed a clear prayer of, _Please don't have let him notice_. "Everything alright?"

Hotch could have snorted. No, everything was _not _alright.

But Hotch didn't know what to say because despite his want to help, he didn't know the young male before him. He knew the profile, he knew the history, but he didn't _know_ Spencer Reid. But what the profile told him was that if he said too much, there was no doubt that Reid would bolt. Say too little and Reid would believe that Hotch was just being polite, being a "concerned" coworker.

Like how a cashier would ask the person they were ringing up, "How's your day?" The only proper response from the customer was, "Good, and yours?" Polite, but not sincere – a farce of manners that society had dutifully engrained within each of her citizens.

Too little and Reid wouldn't accept his help; he would only decline with a bright smile and the assurance that nothing was wrong, everything was perfect, everything was shitting rainbows and glitter because all was right in the world. He'd probably even find a statistic or two to back up his bullshit happy exterior. Maybe a Star Trek reference if he thought that Hotch really needed the extra reassurances.

Finally, after the silence had stretched between the two of them, Hotch pulled his business card from his wallet and pushed it across the slick surface of the table towards Reid. Reid, in turn, blinked in confusion but nevertheless reached out to accept the card, hands no longer shaking, gaunt fingers delicately holding the card out for inspection. Hotch couldn't help but wonder if Reid had always been this thin? When was the last time he had seen Reid consume anything but coffee?

_Coffee and his vice_, Hotch thought bitterly to himself.

Reid gingerly flipped the piece of cardstock between his fingers as if he might perform a magic trick, running the pad of his thumb across the slightly raised emblem of the FBI seal beside of the name Aaron Hotchner. Reid ran his finger over the thirteen stars that stood for the unity of the original colonies – where was the unity of the team when one of its members was suffering? Instead they all sat apart, separate, their own needs placed first and foremost. A loving caress to the shield that represented justice. Hankel had kidnapped and tortured the innocent male before Hotch, and now Reid was suffering the consequences. Where was the justice in that? Red stripes that represented courage, valor, and strength. But under Reid's fingers? All it made Hotch think of was blood.

Reid's blood.

A few moments later and Reid once again lifted his gaze to return to Hotch. "Hotch?"

"I want you to put that in your bag," Hotch stated quietly, eyes still trained on where Reid's fingers covered the seal on his card, trying not to think of Reid's blood.

"But… why?"

"Because the next time you disappear into the bathroom because you can't stop your hands from shaking," Reid visibly paled, trying to sputter out a feeble response, but Hotch wouldn't let him, "I want you to think of me. I want you to know that you can call me at any time, for any reason, no matter what. And I will be there for you. Not as your boss, but as your friend."

Reid swallowed. Nervous didn't even begin to describe the fidgeting male.

"Put it in this pocket," Hotch stated quietly, leaning forward and pushing a finger to one of the pouch pockets of the other's bag. Hotch could feel the cylindrical container beneath the faint pressure, and Reid once again looked terrified, even after Hotch had pulled back. "That way, the next time you have to reach in there, you have to go through me."

Reid's eyes flickered downwards, refusing to meet the older male's gaze. The panic and fear didn't lessen in the least. "But Hotch…"

"But nothing. You need help Spencer, you said it yourself." Hotch paused, studying Reid for a moment. The younger male was close to bolting. Hotch had pushed as far as he could. As a reassurance, Hotch added, "I'm not going to force it on you, however, but it's there for you whenever you need it."

Hotch waited until Reid gave him a small nod to show his understanding before the unit chief moved to a stand. He moved past the younger male, knowing that he would only be intruding and making Reid further uncomfortable if he stayed though he did offer a gentle pat to the younger male's shoulder as a reassuring gesture.

Hotch couldn't help but notice out of the corner of his eye as he resumed is previous seat that the young genius hesitated for only a moment before the business card disappeared into the pouch of his bag that Hotch knew to contain the Dilaudid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Criminal Minds related and the base of this story belongs to RoseLaurel.**

You know, I type that disclaimer a lot. XD Both the not owning Criminal Minds and the base idea belonging to RoseLaurel. I wish there was some way to just automatically add the disclaimer or something. Anyways, thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted, favorited and all that other wonderful junk that makes my day. Really, it does. I always look forward to hearing from people even if I don't always have a chance to reply.

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><p>For some reason, Hotch found it rather startling to see the words, 'Reid, Spencer' flash across the caller ID of his cell phone at one-something in the morning. He wouldn't have worried so much if it weren't for the fact that only a few days prior he had told Reid to call him if he ever needed help. Without wasting any time, Hotch flipped open the phone and stated a simple, easy, "Hotchner." There was a pause with no response, just long enough for the fear to gnaw all the more at Hotch. The male immediately sat up, kicking off the blankets. His mind raced to the worst, spun around all the possible scenarios and none of them were favorable.<p>

"Reid? Are you there?" he demanded, trying not to allow his panic show through; his voice instead coming out gruff and aggressive. Perhaps not the best when dealing with a meek person like Reid who was probably already skittish enough about having to call Hotch in the first place. The unit chief could practically see Reid flinching back in response. Composing himself, he tried again, "Reid?"

Another moment passed before there was a soft, almost missed, "Hotch?"

Reid sounded awful to be perfectly honest. His voice was raspy and strained; it cracked with just that simple utterance of his name. Desperation, panic, all mixed into Hotch's name in a way that he had never encountered before. The raw, dire need...

But it allotted Hotch just a faint glimmer of hope, as fragile as it may have been. At least Reid was there, at least Reid was calling him.

"Yes, I'm here," Hotch tried a bit more gently this time, the male already shedding his pajamas and reaching for what could pass as decent clothing at this time of night. He didn't bother asking Reid if he was alright when everything screamed that Reid was anything but. Instead, he asked a, "Reid, do you need medical attention?" It was a logical question, one that Hotch feared the answer and wished he would never have to ask, but he needed to know if he needed to call an ambulance as well.

Reid didn't reply once more and Hotch let out a soft growl, becoming frustrated as he yanked on a pair of discarded slacks from the previous day. This was too important for Reid to not answer. "Reid?" he prompted again, a bit more of a bite to his voice this time around to encourage the other male to supply him with an answer. He couldn't coddle Reid if he was lying in a puddle of his own blood or overdosing or…

God Hotch really didn't want to think about all of those possibilities. They were fools, all of them, to leave Reid alone like this.

"No… I-I don't," Reid finally managed to stammer out, his voice trembling. "H-Hotch, _please_, I'm sorry. So sorry… I want to stop. I have to stop, I know, I need to—"

Reid was sobbing and Hotch cursed himself as he fumbled with the holster of his gun and searched for his keys in the dark of his room.

"I want to stop, but I can't. I want it so much. I can't think about anything else. God, Tobias… and, Hotch, please—"

"Don't you touch that vial," Hotch snarled, praying that he could use Reid's almost omega-like personality to buy him some time. It didn't need to be much time, just enough for him to get there. "Where are you?" A beat was skipped before Hotch added a sharp, "Reid!"

"My apartment," Reid finally whispered with clear hesitance. "My apartment."

"I will be there in a few minutes," Hotch replied as he slid into his car and pushed his key into the ignition. "Stay on the phone with me, Reid. Are you hurt at all?"

Reid let out a hallow laugh that treaded too close to the edge of insanity for Hotch's taste. He swallowed and stepped all the more on the gas, taking a corner just a bit more sharply than he probably should have, but Hotch didn't let up. "Reid?"

"Yeah, yeah I am. Just a bit though. Not bad. I thought that maybe, maybe if I could trigger a large enough release of endorphins that maybe… maybe I wouldn't need it."

"But it's not enough to require medical attention? If you're worried about the repercussions, we can admit you to a hospital under a false—"

"No, no it's alright. It's almost stopped bleeding. I didn't… didn't cut too deep. I don't want to die Hotch," and the last part was whispered, laced with fear.

"You're not going to. I'm turning onto your street right now. Are you applying pressure to the bleeding?"

"Yes."

"Where are you in the apartment?"

"Bathroom."

"Is the door to the apartment unlocked?" Hotch really hoped that he wasn't going to have to break down the door. It was a hassle that would only make the situation worse, he was sure, but he wasn't quite sure whether or not he wanted Reid actually moving from his position in the bathroom to get up to unlock the door.

"Yeah, I think I left it unlocked. I don't really remember."

"Alright. Don't hang up on me," Hotch ordered as he moved out of his car and practically sprinted towards the building and up the flight of stairs, not even bothering to lock up his car or anything else as trivial as that. Under any other circumstance, the vision of SSA Aaron Hotchner taking the steps two or three at a time might have been comical, but now… now there was nothing but fear and worry etched onto the male's face. He came to a halt in front of a plain door with no other markings than the ninety-seven.

Still clutching the phone, Hotch wondered why it was that he was just standing there, why he suddenly couldn't bring himself to open and charge into the apartment. Reid needed him. Desperately. And he was just standing in the hallway. Why?

Hotch swallowed.

Because it was all too real.

Because this was Reid, the kid he had already failed to protect once and was now miserably failing to protect again. What if there wasn't anything he could actually do? What if he only made it worse?

For a terrible, fleeting moment, Hotch actually considered not going inside. Considered calling Gideon instead but as Reid whispered a soft, "Hotch?" the unit chief was reminded once more how Gideon had told him after they had left New Orleans that he had _handled_ the situation. That he had taken care of Reid, that Reid would be fine. This wasn't fine.

With that, Hotch turned the doorknob and let out a breath of relief when it gave way and he was granted entry into the apartment. On the surface, it was everything that Hotch would expect from someone like Reid: tidy, comfortable, with more books than any library Hotch had ever seen tucked into seemingly almost every nook and cranny. Hotch didn't give himself a chance to profile the room, however, instead hurriedly moving in the direction he hoped was the bathroom.

It was only when he stood in the doorway of the white tiled room that Hotch finally closed his phone and tucked it away in his pocket. The sight that he was greeted with was one that made him nauseated: blood. He knew that it was only a trick of his mind, that there really wasn't as much as it seemed, that it was only spread out as if Reid had attempted to clean it up and managed to track it everywhere… but it was _everywhere_.

"Hotch," Reid whispered softly, drawing the unit chief attention away from the thick, congealing liquid. For the first time, Hotch noticed that Reid was huddled in the bathtub, curled up on himself, shaking violently.

And Hotch had thought that Reid had sounded bad on the phone. It didn't even come close to how the younger male before him looked.

"Reid," he stated softly, slowly moving into the room, hating how the blood made the soles of his shoes stick ever so slightly, releasing the boots with disgusting noises that reminded Hotch that he was walking on Reid's blood. "It's going to be okay, it's all going to be okay."

And Reid was crying again, reaching for Hotch as he sobbed desperately. Hotch didn't know what else to do but to pull the younger male partially into his arms before he climbed into the bathtub as well. He couldn't bring himself to care that his slacks would be stained with Reid's blood, far too focused on Reid whom he pulled into his lap. Reid instinctively curled against Hotch's form, burying his face into the crook of the older male's neck. Long arms wrapped around his unit chief.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Reid whispered, repeating the words over and over.

And Hotch couldn't do anything but lay his head on top of the other's, gently running his hands through the brown locks and whisper over and over, "It's alright, Spencer, it's alright. You were right to call me."


End file.
